


Clean

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Licking the Science, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Silmarils as Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Nerdanel knows Fëanor fears the Silmarils now, after they have burned Maedhros and Maglor, even though there is no reason to in the wake of his reembodiment.She also has a plan to take him past such fears.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a 100 words of Licking The Science thread on FFA. 
> 
> The Silmarils are The Science.

"You fear them now," Nerdanel said, closing the door behind her as she stepped into her husband's office.

Fëanor refused to even look up. From the corner of his eye, he could see the light of a Silmaril seeping through the room.

"I do not fear them, I merely know that if they burnt Maitimo and Makalaurë, they shall burn me as well." He made another note on the parchment, not able to focus on the work but pretending for the excuse it gave.

"They will not. You heard Varda, they shall not burn you or our sons again, unless you intend future ill deeds." Nerdanel stepped closer, and closer, until Fëanor had to keep his eyes focused on a solitary word in order to not look at her and the Silmaril.

"I did not intend to do ill deeds in the past, and yet I did." He could feel heat against his back. Perhaps it was Nerdanel and the warmth he had once forsaken and never would again.

Perhaps it was the Silmaril, waiting before it would burn him.

"Look at me," Nerdanel said, grasping his jaw and nudging his head gently to move it.

He could have refused. She would not force him, no matter how much she thought he should do something.

He allowed her to move his head, though he closed his eyes until he knew what would before him. He took a shuddering breath, feeling the warmth so close to his face.

Her fingers stroked his face. "Open your eyes, husband."

He did, and gasped.

"I thought this would draw your attention."

The Silmaril hung from a chain, bouncing between Nerdanel's breasts. It shone, casting her hair and skin in a warm glow.

The Silmaril was all she wore.

Even as Fëanor felt the faint agony of being this close to one of the Silmarils, lust stirred within him. He had missed this, had forgotten those days before their sons, before he had become consumed with his work on the Silmarils and had driven her away. "Nerdanel…"

"I will prove to you that they will not harm you," she said. She pulled back, moving towards the couch and reclining backwards on it. "Watch."

He did, mouth dry as she started to touch herself, the Silmaril still swaying on the chain. "Do you see how much I desire you, Fëanáro? How much I love you?"

"Yes." He could see that much, could see how her nipples had hardened and, as she moved her legs further apart, how wet she was becoming.

"Do you know how much it hurts me to see you afraid of your own creations, to the point that you will not even look at me if I hold one?"

He forced himself to look up, meeting her eyes and seeing the pain there, even as she softly smiled at him. One hand was behind her head now, undoing the clasp on the chain.

"Yes." He watched as she removed the chain, removing the Silmaril from her chest and allowing it to slide downwards.

She couldn't mean to pleasure herself with it, he thought even as he hardened. She had always known how much he desired to be the one to bring her to the brink. If not by his own skills, than with something he had made. And yet, the Silmarils had caused so much harm -

Even as he thought such, she met his eyes. "Watch. Watch how your creation pleases me, and how it does not harm me."

His cock jerked against his stomach even through his fear as she ran the Silmaril over her clit, gasps of pleasure leaving her mouth.

Then she moved it further down, toying with her entrance and allowing it to become smeared with the same wetness he had desired moments earlier.

He watched as she moved it in and out, until he could see the signs of her orgasm approaching. Even as he desired to be the one to bring her to such again, she threw her head back and moaned.

He froze, unable to move forward to kiss her through this or move away from the Silmaril. He was chained to this space watching her and the Silmaril move together as she peaked.

After a moment, she recovered, pulling the Silmaril away from her and beckoning him closer.

He moved forward, dropping to his knees when he was only a foot away from her, knowing what she would wish even as he feared such. She held the Silmaril out towards him.

"Clean it, Fëanáro, I know how you enjoy such tastes." Her eyes met his, reassuring and warm, even as she held the glistening Silmaril towards his mouth.

He swallowed down his doubts. If he was right -

"I would not harm you," she said. "You have trusted me before, trust me in this.

"I do." He closed his eyes and leaned forward, sticking his tongue out as nervously as he had the first time he had pleasured Nerdanel herself this way.

The Silmaril was warm, but did not burn him at the first tentative lick or any of the following ones. His mouth filled with the taste, and if he kept his eyes closed he could almost pretend he was cleaning any of their toys, warmed by Nerdanel's use.

"Open your eyes." Nerdanel's voice was firm and commanding, and he could not refuse her.

He did. The light blinded him, drowning out everything from his vision. It was close, and yet he was consumed by it, only by his love for her.

"Do you understand now that it will not hurt you?"

He nodded, hoping she could see him, even as he could not see her through the light. He licked the Silmaril again, although he could tell he had already cleaned it as well as he could like this. 

"Good." She pulled her hand away, dropping the Silmaril onto the floor beside the couch.

He paid no attention to its path as the shifting light allowed him to see her. She was writhing on the couch, splotches of red on her face and body as she panted.

He climbed on the couch and kissed her, as they thrust against one another.


End file.
